#caretaker forced to be whumper

[echoingalaxies]

“I will do anything,” Caretaker pleaded from their knees. “Just – don’t hurt him. He’s not your enemy. I am.”

Whumper narrowed his eyes, considering, but did not let go of Whumpee, whom he had pinned against the wall, his hand wrapped around the throat of the defenseless boy, who didn’t have enough life in him to put up a fight anymore. “What do you have to offer?”

“What do you want?” Caretaker stared at Whumper. “My life? My freedom? Let him go and whatever it is you want from me, I will give you without a fight.”

“I want you to suffer,” Whumper spat, fingers tightening around half-conscious Whumpee’s neck. Whumpee’s breaths were becoming more shallow and raspy, and Whumper grinned toothily at the pure panic and desperation on Caretaker’s face. “And what would be a better way to make that happen than through him?”

[whumblr]

How about some robot whump, where Whumper is going all out on it with Caretaker forced to watch.

The android assures Caretaker, "Not to worry. I cannot feel it. There is no pain."

But that doesn't mean that Caretaker stops yelling at Whumper to stop tearing their friend apart in the most brutal way. Appendages ripped from its torso, wires sending sparks up, the humanoid features slowly but forcefully removed. Oil drips out, leaving dark puddles not quite unlike blood.

All the while, the android keeps diligently updating on its status:

"Sensory functions failing."

"Emotion recognition centre damaged."

"Visuals reduced to 30%."

"It's okay!" Caretaker shouts. "I can still fix you. I can fix it all!"

"Oh, can you?" Whumper croons, fingers teasing over loose wires and smashing a hammer to the core.

"Memory storage compromised," the android croaks, it's voice failing.

"Maybe you can fix it, Caretaker," Whumper says, raising the hammer again. "But will it get you your friend back?"

-

General whump taglist: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop (huh not sure if these tags are working..)

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part II

Previous / Masterlist

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, unwilling whumper, forced to be whumper, ALOT of self-loathing and fucky thoughts and guilt and all of it, weapons, adult language, mentions of blood, brief mention of vomit/nausea, reference to toxic/abusive family dynamic (if I've missed any, please let me know! <3)

Part two! A long time coming! The final part should drop in the next few days/this week! :D thank you to the amazing @whumpcereal for her AMAZING beta on this 🥺🫶

---

August has always dreamt of cake on his birthday, the warm scent of sugar and butter taunting his vampiric senses like forbidden fruit. The cake would be chocolate, of course. Every human loves chocolate; it must be the tastiest thing on Earth. This year, there would have been one hundred and thirty candles, barely fitting on top of it. And August could blow them all out and make his birthday wish. Just like the humans do.

But if the flickering flames on his imaginary cake could really grant his wishes, he wouldn’t wish for chocolate. With a single puff of breath, he’d wish to rewind time and erase this horrific day out of existence. Or, perhaps, he’d wish for a clean slate - a life free from the regret that eats him alive. But above all, he would wish to finally be happy - whatever that means. But where does August get the gall to wish for his own happiness when he is the catalyst of another’s misery? 

He stole a human being tonight. He crept through the streets, snatched them from where they slept and locked them away. He’d lurked in the shadows and all, like a true monster. As far as the human is aware, they saw the stars for the last time this eve and they’ll never feel fresh air stream through their lungs again. August could see it the moment their eyes first locked - the human feared the blood coursing through his own veins was his no longer, that he had become nothing more than food.

No, if August had birthday candles, he should be wishing for the human’s pain to stop, not his own. He should pray for any memories of this miserable night to fade away, and for the human to feel nothing but warmth and safety for the rest of his days. How dare August make this about himself?

How dare August call himself a doctor?

Really, if August is anything other than a feral creature, he is a coward. He can’t find a drop of courage in his selfish core to face the human. Of course not. That would mean facing up to what he has done to the human.

Instead, August kneels in the bathroom, and he hugs the toilet bowl tight in his arms. He sputters and heaves as spit dribbles from his lips. It’s a battle against wave after wave of never-ending nausea. August is sickened by himself. Repulsed by the cruelty that he and his kind are capable of. Even if he earned his family’s stamp of approval tonight - something he’s always dreamed of and strived for - it wasn’t worth it. Not one bit. He refuses to hurt, abuse and sacrifice an innocent life for a scrap of their regard. Curse their prideful smiles and damn their hollow praise.

CRASH! Shattering glass pierces through the silence in-between retches. August’s heart leaps up into his throat, and his gut clenches.

His human is awake - no! August shakes that insidious thought from his head. Not his, and never his. The human does not belong to him. 

August wills the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The thought of skulking down to that basement with his tail between his legs and shame swelling in his chest - it turns his already churning stomach with bubbles of dread. Still, he must. He peels himself from the bathroom floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and makes his way downstairs to greet his guest. There’s not a second spare to wallow and drown in self-pity.

He grips the stair bannister for dear life, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. Still, he forces his dragging feet to move one step at a time down to the basement. There’s no backing out of this, no turning and running now. August needs to face the music–or face his victim, rather. He must fix what he’s done to this poor human.

There is the sound of a jarring crash, and then another dull thud resonates from behind the locked basement door. August’s shaking hands fumble to fit the key in the lock. With a click, the door opens, and he cautiously descends into the dimly lit basement, every footstep echoing in the sudden, eerie silence.

That is until he hears the human’s heart. It pounds like a war-drum in August’s ears, each beat louder and more erratic. August flicks the light switch, and as the basement floods with light, he freezes on the spot, beyond horrified at the scene before him.

His life's work, decades of dedication, lay in ruins. His surgery looks like the aftermath of an explosion. All the furniture is flipped over, and shards of shattered glass sparkle across the floor like jewels amongst the blitz. Charts and graphs once meticulously hung on the wall now dangle in tatters, their scientific data reduced to meaningless scraps. His medicinal cabinets have been ransacked; trails of viscous liquid snake across the concrete floor from countless broken vials. The air is thick with the acrid smell of chemicals.

And there, behind his masterpiece of destruction, cowers the human, pressed flat against the farthest wall, a scalpel gripped in trembling hands held out before him. Its sharp tip is pointed in August’s direction, glistening against the surgery's harsh strip lights.

August has seen fear in human eyes more times than he can possibly count, but he has never seen fear like this. The human’s eyes burn with such primal terror that they touch the very core of August’s being. In the man’s eyes, August sees his own fear, his own isolation and his own despair. But August stays there, unable to look away no matter how it hurts him. He is trapped in this man’s stare, lost in a labyrinth of his own reflections.

But August feels something else too. A raw and untamed emotion. Rage. All-consuming anger that makes goosebumps prickle down the vampire’s pale skin. Rage courses through the human’s veins like a river of molten lava.

“You stay the hell back!” the human roars until his voice wavers and wobbles. He swings the scalpel into the empty space between them, stabbing at the air. “Don’t you dare come near me!”

August’s hands fly up in surrender. Words escape him. What could he possibly say to make this right? Where does he even start? Surely nothing he could say could do justice to his regret.

“I’m sorry-”

That’s the first thing that blurts out of August’s pathetic mouth. Because it is the only and the most sincere thought that comes to him. As though his apology could ever mend the damage or heal the pain he’s caused tonight.

August is shaking now. He can’t stop. His palm slams against his mouth as he chokes back a guilt-warbled cry. “I’m - so…I’m SO sorry. I - I don’t - I…I -I never. I didn’t want to hurt you. I - I won’t hurt you! I don’t want this. Please - y-you have to believe me. You’re safe here-”

August moves without thinking, over the rubble and glass shards. He moves barely an inch closer, and the human erupts into panic. Like a great cat, the human swiftly pounces and flips the table in front of him to form a barricade, stopping August dead in his tracks. Surgical instruments clatter about, and yet more glass scatters across the cement floor. 

“I SAID STAY BACK!” the human brays like a feral animal. His chest heaves dramatically as his lungs seem to fight for breath, and he takes an unsteady step back to create even more distance between them. Gingerly, he cradles his hand, still clutching the scalpel. A gasp escapes his lips as crimson wells from a sudden gash. The tang of iron hits August’s nostrils, drool coats his tongue and his fangs tingle, ready to feed. He wrestles with his animalistic instincts and pushes back the unwanted and primal hunger that threatens to take over. He knows he doesn’t want it, but his body thinks he needs it.

The human had hurt himself in his own destructive frenzy. August can’t help but feel responsible for that too. But that doesn’t seem to deter the human, in fact, it fuels him. He launches himself at the countertops. In one fluid motion, sweeping his arms  across the surfaces, clearing it of every single object in a deafening cascade that shatters across the floor.

“HUMAN! PLEASE STOP!”

The human doesn’t speak, but a slow, cold anger radiates off him. Brows slam together, his jaw clenches until the muscles stand out starkly. A single word, each syllable dripping with disdain, finally leaves his lips:  "'Human'?"

August immediately realises his mistake. Guilt eats him from the inside out. You utter barbarian; he scolds himself.

“I have a name, you know!” The human snaps incredulously, bloody hands curling into fists.

“Of course, of course! Just…” August breathes, “What is your name?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?!”

The bookshelves are the human’s next victim. He doesn’t bother pulling or ripping at them; he just bulldozes them with a barge of his shoulder. The shelves topple with a cacophony of splintering wood and flapping pages. His gaze is already fixed on his next target: a framed diploma hanging on the wall, defying the human’s rampage.

“Wait, no! P-Please, not that!” August begs, hands clasped together in supplication. The diploma represents his proudest achievement, everything that he’s worked so hard for. It is the only proof August has that there may be good in him somewhere. “Please! Don’t destroy anything else! I just need you to hear me out!”

“Open the door and let me walk out, vamp,” the human scowls, glossing over August’s pleas. “Or do I have to go through you?”

August swallows hard, the human’s casual threat sending a fresh wave of terror through him. He doesn’t doubt the human’s raw strength or willpower for even a second. The destroyed furniture and the fiery defiance in his eyes promise more violence. A heavy silence stretches between them, thick with tension.

“I - I want to help you - please just let me explain all of this-”

The human slams his fist into the nearest wall, a crater of dust left in its wake. August flinches into himself. Then, the man lets out a sound that no soul should ever have to hear. It’s a keening cry - a grieving wail for the life he fears he has lost. It rocks August to his core. It’s bloodcurdling. 

“Why’d you choose me, huh?!” The human seethes, damn near foaming at the mouth. “Is it because I sleep rough on the streets? Is that it? Because my life is so fucking expendable?!”

Then, it’s as if a dam has burst. The human’s face just crumples as a choked sob croaks from his lips, barely even audible. Slowly, he slides down against the wall. Head in hands, shoulders slumped, any bravado completely drained from his posture. 

“You knew no-one would come for me… didn’t you?” The human manages a whisper, his head hung low in defeat. Words just seem to keep failing August time and time again, he can only watch miserably and quietly. 

“DIDN’T YOU?!” the human bellows, eyes bloodshot and wild as his head shoots up. August flinches at the outburst.

“What gives you the right to play god?! What makes my life worth any less than yours, or any other person you could have plucked from the damn street. It was a shitty life. But it was my life! There was nothing left to take from me, and you took it all anyway. You’re a… you’re a parasite.”

August bites his lips and nods, a silent, pathetic apology. He is a parasite. Every word burns like a red-hot fire poker but he knows he deserves every scorch. Scarlet-shame colours his cheeks. Monster, parasite, animal - he’s all of the above.

“I won’t stop fighting you,” the human huffs through tears of fury. “I won't stop until I kill you, even if it kills me. You're right. I have nothing, and no-one. Nothing to lose but everything to gain. So if I’m going to go down, I'm going down swinging. Do your worst…leech.”

Leech.

August has always thought of himself as a healer. A protector. It is here, in this moment, he finally realises he is nothing more than the predator he was born to be. Afterall, there is no denying what he has done. He did take the human, he took away everything the human had to take.  He, too, sinks to the floor in devastation, landing heavily in a cross-legged slump opposite the tear-streaked human. 

Worst birthday ever.

August is drained and depleted, but he won’t waste any more breath on defending himself; he isn’t worthy of any defence. But the very least he can do is comfort the human - help him to weather the storm and be the anchor he needs right now.

“You can keep the scalpel,” August sniffles, “if it gives you some comfort. If it helps you to feel safe.” It’s an impotent gesture. A scalpel would be useless against him in combat if it really did come to that, but hopefully the human can see the sentiment behind the offer. “All I ask is for a minute of your time, and I promise, I will explain everything to you.”

The human stares at the scalpel in his hand and then locks eyes with August’s in a silent duel. No accusation, no defiance this time - only a deep well of desperate inquiry burning in their depths. A million silent questions hang in the air. He begrudgingly nods for August to go on.

“I will take you home tomorrow morning. I swear it. I wish I could open the front door for you and let you stroll free and wave you off into the world, but we’re deep in vampire territory right now. You wouldn’t last five minutes out here on your own. You’ll be snatched back up in a heartbeat, and by a creature less...inviting than myself. We will go after sunrise tomorrow and not a minute later, you have my word.”

“Your word,” the human spits, “Your word means jack all to me.”

“Then let me prove that I am who I say I am - a man of my word. Let me show you to a bed for tonight. Let me give you food and water, and a pillow to rest your head. And then I will leave you be, to get all the sleep you want and need, and I will keep to myself. The next time you see me, it will be to make our journey back to human territory.”

“...Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking for your trust.” Heaven knows August doesn’t deserve it, could never earn it. “I’m asking, from the bottom of my heart, for your leniency. You could, and probably should, drive a stake through my chest for what I’ve put you through. I cannot say I would blame you, if you did. But…why don’t we both survive the night, and come tomorrow we go our separate ways?”

Relief floods in as the human seems to reluctantly ponder the deal. It’s just a night. They just need to make it through the night, and then they can both go back to their separate lives and try to forget each other's faces. The human must realise that too, because his boiling anger seems to simmer down. August rises to his feet and slowly moves across the room to extend a helping hand. The human only grunts his curt refusal and snubs the offer, forcing himself up off the cold and unforgiving ground. 

“Spare bedroom. First floor. It’s all yours for the night. I’ll show you to it.” August nervously beckons the human over as he heads towards the basement door. The man sluggishly follows behind, keeping a distance that feels like miles. August feels distrustful eyes burning into the back of his head. He half expects to feel the scalpel pierce his spine any second.

But it doesn’t. As August leads the way upstairs, their unified steps echo strangely in the emptiness of the house. With each turn, the sheer scale of this place, his home, hits August anew. In the company of this poor stranger he’s pulled from the grime of the street, the house feels absurdly oversized. Every step reveals yet another opulent space – a bathroom, a bedroom, a study, a library, another bathroom.  August marches him through this excessive display of wealth with a sinking heart. Does he truly need all this, especially when the man trailing behind him apparently doesn’t have a penny to his name or a roof over his head?

August pauses before what is now the third bedroom door they’ve come across, this one already ajar. Inside, the air is stuffy and still, as though the room hasn’t been disturbed in decades, and it hasn’t; it is  untouched and unslept in. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the drawn curtains and slices across the four-poster bed. 

“This is yours,” he motions the human through the doorway, “for the night-” he quickly repeats. He chooses every word with due care and diligence, to reaffirm that this situation is by no means permanent.

Hesitantly, the human steps inside. His eyes flit across the ornately carved furniture and over thick layers of dust. August takes his moment to disappear down the hallway, returning minutes later with a tray holding a jug of water, a glass and a bowl of steaming chicken soup - he was lucky to find the tin of it at the very back of his cupboard. A strained smile tugs at August’s lips as he sets it down on the nightstand. 

Again, the human recoils from him, pressing himself into the corner of the room.

“I’ll go now, okay? I-I hope you can get a good night's sleep. If you need me, for anything, my bedroom is on the very end of the hall, on the left”.

“I won’t need you,” the human scoffs. “Go. Leave.”

The rebuff curdles August’s smile, his lips twitch nervously. “As you wish…” he mutters, stalking towards the door with defeat. Hand on the doorknob, he pauses, “My name is August, by the way. Could I please at least know your name, too?”

Rooted to the spot, the human squares his broad shoulders, a challenge radiating from his posture. “Names are sacred, leech,” he declares, teeth gritting together. “I plan to keep that secret for as long as I can keep my mind.”

The human’s words strike August like a physical blow. The air whooshes from his lungs, deflating him like a pricked balloon. Regret, sharp and bitter, settles in his chest. He can’t stay a second longer, not with the humiliating spark of unshed tears threatening to spill. His family is right, he’s a weak and pathetic excuse for a vampire. With a twist of the doorknob, he flees down the hall to his bedroom. He collapses onto his bed and buries his face in the pillow.

— 

For the human, however, sleep will be a stranger tonight. Any last vestige of drowsiness flees as the vampire vanishes. Sleep just isn’t in the cards. He has to hold out until dawn. He scrambles for anything he can get his hands on to barricade the door. It’s his first line of defence overnight;it will give him a fighting chance and an advantage over the creature.

The heavy dresser groans in protest as he drags it across the room to block the door, scratching and scraping the floorboards along its path. He doesn’t think twice about the damage, if the vamp gets to destroy his life, then he gets to destroy it’s property. Then the rickety chair and the desk it sits at gets pushed into the barricade. And the bedside tables, the bookcase too. Finally, his gaze falls on the bed and its sturdy oak bedposts. He pulls his scalpel from his pocket and digs his scalpel into the wood, feverishly wedging a chunk out of it with all the strength he has left. Shavings rain down as he whittles it down to a sharpened point. Slapdash, but a stake nonetheless.

Every creek of the settling house, every rustle in the wind sets the human’s teeth on edge. He crawls into the bed and slips under the blankets. He’s pleasantly surprised at how soft they are, and how the mattress feels like he’s floating on a cloud and how warmth seems to instantly envelop his fatigued body. He’s not felt this much comfort in…in, well, years.

But he can’t afford to let his weary eyes slip shut. He stays watching the door like a hawk from his bed, his staked clutched close to his beating chest.

Morning can’t come quick enough.

*!*!*!*!*

Dawn finds the human bleary-eyed but alert. His crafted weapon is still clutched tightly in his palms as he half-stares and blinks drearily at the barricaded door, as ready and poised to attack as he can be. Moonlight has dwindled and now sunlight beams through the velvet curtains instead. He leaps up, rips the curtains open and basks in the sun’s kiss. It’s something he thought he’d never feel again,

He survived the night. It’s nothing short of a miracle. A silent thank you rises in his throat as a single tear slips from his eye. Someone, he thinks, has to be watching over him. His parents, he hopes. There’s no way he would have made it through this without them.

Now the vampire just has to hold true to his promise. If his word holds any weight, the human will be back in human territory before dusk. Yet, the whole situation defies any logic. The human can’t wrap his head around the absurdity of it all. Why would a vampire snatch him, just to return him by nightfall, less than twenty four hours later? He can’t fight the feeling that a deeper motive lurks beneath the surface, a sinister plan at play. Suspicion clings to the human like cobwebs. Beyond the hospitality and kindness… the vampire has to be up to something.

The human dismantles his barricade and heads out to go downstairs. Every fibre of his being screams ‘it’s a trap!’...but the human can’t deny the smallest sliver of hope in his chest, piercing his bubble of suspicion. The vampire had kept true to its word so far, it had left him alone and untouched, fed and watered, a bed to sleep in. It hasn’t laid a hand on him nor tried to feed. In fact, it had kept far away.  Maybe the vampire deserves the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, there isn’t anything more to this than meets the eye, and there are no strings attached? 

But hope is a dangerous thing, tempting him to lower his guard and leave himself vulnerable for thirsty fangs to sink into. No, he thinks grimly, tightening his grip on the makeshift stake. He will not trust, cautious acceptance will have to do. He’s ready to fight with all he’s got when it all heads south.

He reaches the landing and sneakily peeks over the railing. The vampire stands by the front door, guarding it like a troll bridge. To stop the human from escaping? The vampire meticulously folds up his sleek, black umbrella and places it back in his stand. He looks so tall, impossibly tall, even from the human’s vantage point. The vampire is dressed in a three-piece suit and leather dress shoes that seems more suited to an office boardroom than house wear.

As the human strains for a better look, a sudden creak of the floor makes the vampire snap his head up. Chilling red eyes lock with the human’s in a way that sends a jolt of pure terror down the man’s spine. Would he be punished for this? Would the vampire strip him of his free will and send him marching down to the basement for punishment? He’s heard they can do that–and worse. All the fear sparks anew. He can’t catch his breath - he’s panicking.

But the vampire's eyes aren’t actually filled with the predatory and furious glint he expected. Instead, a swirl of emotions flickers within them - concern, sorrow,  even…anxiety? It’s a disarming sight. This creature looks nearly as worried as Lucas feels…

—

"There's been a change in plans,” August laments.

August could literally hear the human’s heart drop in his chest, like a lead weight falling into a deep well. The human’s eyes are wide with despair, and his mouth drops open as though he’s been struck across the cheek. A wave of guilt crashes over August, and he isn’t oblivious to how this looks. It looks like the betrayal and deceit the human has anticipated since he first set eyes on August.  August is well aware he just crushed the man’s hopes to dust, and confirmed every doubt and fear. But it’s out of his hands. Mother nature is a cruel mistress.

“No-” the human rasps, nearly falling down the stairs as his legs give out on him.  “No, vamp. You said you’d take me home. You said today. You promised-”

“That’s not the element that’s changed. My promises are sworn and imperishable. There is, however, a delay.”

"A ‘delay’…” The human repeats incredulously, a hint of sarcasm to his tone. His suspicion eats away at him, misplaced though it is. August is many things - a liar, he is not. But there’s no way the human could know that. Not yet, anyway. The human takes a cautious step back from August, staring him up and down with disdain. 

"A storm is raging outside. The streets are thick with snow and ice, and the skies are dark with thundering clouds. It’s too dangerous to make the drive.”

“I don’t care,” the human snidely retorts. “I’ll walk it if I have to. Just open the door for me, and I’ll be on my merry way. I’ll be out of your hair and you can have your big, lonely mansion all to yourself again.”

Yes, his lonely mansion. All to himself. The words sting more than August cares to admit. He winces like a knife is twisting in his belly. When the human goes home, he will be all alone again. It was nice…is nice…the company. Talking to someone that’s not a suffering patient or his own reflection in the mirror.  He already feels the emptiness settling over him once again. He longs for companionship, for someone to share his home with. He sighs, knowing that he'll have to wait a bit longer for his wish to come true. He can’t keep the human here–at least not indefinitely. But he will have to make the human understand that tonight is non-negotiable. 

“You can’t-” August shakes his head. The man would never make it home. Not with the minus temperatures and the blankets of snow.

“I can. I am. Move,” the human growls, his hands balled into fists. Only then does August notice the crude stake in the human’s white-kncukled hand. No, this human will never be his friend, but even still, August has a duty to him.

The human storms towards the door and tries to push it open. It doesn’t budge. He barges his shoulder into the door, desperately ramming it. Still it doesn’t give. Soon, he’s kicking and shoving and a warbled cry rockets up his throat. Despite his frantic assault, the door only cracks open slightly.

“Snow,” August chimes in, pointing to the falling white powder crumbling through the gap in the door. “We’re snowed in. Must be at least twelve inches of it, I would think.”

“No. This can’t be happening. We-We climb out the bedroom window!” The human’s eyes light up at the idea, sprinting towards the staircase in a panic.

“And then what will you do? Trek all the way back to human territory in this snowstorm? Do you know how far out we are?”

In the blink of an eye, the human tumbles to the floor in a heap, screaming into his hands, pulling at his hair. The blizzard howls like a banshee outside, a gust of snow blows in from outside. The human knows he’s stuck here. He’s trapped here, with a bloodsucker. He’s going to die. Or at least that’s what he must believe. 

“I can’t stay here. With you. I won’t do it.”

“Please,” August says. He resists the urge to move closer; there’s no point in riling the human any more than he’s already riled himself up.  “My word is my bond. I won’t harm you. But I can’t in good conscience return you to where I found you. I’m a physician. I can’t put anyone in harm’s way. To sleep rough on a night like tonight–it would be a death sentence.” 

The human laughs coldly. “Was this your plan all along? Crush my spirits? Delude me into thinking it’s my choice to stay?” 

“I don’t control the weather,” August sighs. “This doesn’t change a thing. I will still take you home as soon as the roads are clear.”

The human remains silent, his jaw clenched. With a final, hate-filled glare, he storms towards the stairs, and, like a sulking teenager, stomps upward in a whirlwind of fury. The slam of his bedroom door reverberates throughout the house.

But the human is still here. He is still safe. August hasn’t failed entirely. 

An exhausted breath escapes August’s lips. He isn’t used to this, the vulnerability of sharing his haven and bearing the weight of responsibility for another life. A knot of unease tightens in his gut. These forced close quarters may at least offer him a chance to ease the human’s fear and earn a crumb of forgiveness, but August can’t help but wonder –  will they be able to bridge the chasm between predator and prey?

This is going to be a long couple of days…

---

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[mj-iza-writer]

Warning: Forced self cannibalism and cannibalism. Wing mutilation and amputation.

Fresh blood trickled down Whumpee's back as they leaned weakly against a wall.

Moving hurt too much, even breathing felt like they were tearing their back apart more.

Their wings were the only thing Whumpee could think about.

The muscles that worked the wings sent shock waves of pain through Whumpee's back.

"It's like they're crying. They feel empty", Whumpee's breath hitched.

Their feathers scattered the floor around them. They had lost quite a few because of stress.... and nervous preening.

They shook as they reached for one of the feathers. Tears flooded their eyes as they cuddled it close.

Whumper carried a plate in and set it down by Whumpee.

"I thought you'd be hungry after losing that much blood", Whumper smirked, "just some leftovers from my dinner."

Whumpee side glanced the plate, "I'm not interested."

"Oh, come on, they taste really good", Whumper chuckled, "I didn't do anything to them. Those are from my plate. They're fresh to. You need something to eat to regain your strength."

Whumpee cautiously reached for the plate and grabbed a small piece of meat.

"Is this chicken?", Whumpee smelt it before taking a bite.

"Well, kind of", Whumper smirked, "it is wings from a bird like creature."

Whumpee stopped mid chew, "what?", they squealed.

"Your wings are delicious, aren't they?", Whumper laughed.

"I'm going to throw up", Whumpee threw the food away from them and leaned forward to puke.

The movements caused their back to tear open the scab that formed on their back. More blood oozed down.

"Why? Why did you cut them off?", Whumpee yelled.

"I was tired of trimming your feathers, and you fighting me. Plus I was hungry", Whumper picked up the plate, "you eat these or I force feed you. Your choice, my hard work making these won't go to waste."

Whumpee looked at the plate, "I can't eat my own wings. Please, don't make me."

"You didn't even take care of them. Look at all the feathers everywhere. You pulled them off yourself", Whumper yelled, "eat."

"You did this. You did all of this", Whumpee yelled back.

Whumper slapped Whumpee before picking up another piece of the meat and forcing Whumpee's mouth open.

Whumpee sobbed as they were forced to eat their own body.

Blood loss was getting to Whumpee. They thought they saw Caretaker opening the door and running to them.

Everything was blurry.

What was being said? Everything sounded like echoes.

"Who's there?", Whumpee jumped suddenly, "please no more, I'll be good. Don't touch me."

"It's Caretaker. Shh, it's Caretaker", someone held down Whumpee's hands, "don't fight. We are here to save you."

"Car-Caretaker?", Whumpee whispered, "Caretaker... you're here for me?"

"Yes, you are safe now", Caretaker stopped and rubbed Whumpee's head to comfort them.

"M-my wings, they cut off my wings", Whumpee cried and tried to bury their head in Caretaker's body, "they cut them and ate them. They forced me to eat them."

Caretaker sat on the ground to comfort Whumpee. They saw some pieces of bone that had been tossed away. Feathers were everywhere... Whumpee's feathers.

"I'm sorry Whumpee. I am truly sorry", Caretaker frowned as their friend shook, "I wish I could have found you sooner."

Emergency responders worked around them.

"Where is Whumper?", Whumpee looked up fearfully.

"They are being arrested", Caretaker soothed, "you are safe now. I finally found you."

"Could you grab some of my feathers so I can keep them", Whumpee asked as they were loaded onto a gurney.

"Of course I can do that", Caretaker comforted, "these nice people are taking you to the hospital. I will be there soon to help you okay."

"Okay", Whumpee nodded, "please don't forget me."

"I won't Whumpee. I promise."

Caretaker gathered several feathers of different sizes and color patterns.

They were shown the leftovers of Whumpee's wings.

"This is a nightmare", Caretaker sighed as they patted the wings gently, "this person is sick minded. They will pay for this."

Caretaker quietly watched Whumpee sleep.

They had had a busy few hours as the doctors had to carefully take care of Whumpee. Anything done wrong to the avian's back could be disastrous, especially if the wings were able to grow back.

Whumpee winced as their eyes opened.

Their eyes darted around the room. Their field of view was limited due to not wanting to move.

"Caretaker?", Whumpee whispered.

"I'm right here", Caretaker quickly knelt beside them, "right here."

"What's going on?", Whumpee frowned.

"You just got out of surgery, you were under for a few hours. You are resting now", Caretaker knelt beside them, "do you have any pain?"

"Not right now", Whumpee frowned, "is it bad?"

"It's not great", Caretaker sighed, "but the doctor believes if your wings do grow back, you shouldn't have any problems."

"Even if they grow back, it will be years before I have them the way they were", Whumpee felt a tear form in their eye, "do you think they'll grow back?", Whumpee whispered.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. An avian having their wings cut at the base doesn't normally happen", Caretaker sighed, "whatever happens I will help you get through or try my best to help."

Caretaker looked down, "I am so sorry I didn't get to you sooner. You were so hard to find and I know that isn't a good excuse. I'm sorry."

Whumpee weakly held out their hand to Caretaker.

Caretaker gently held it.

"You tried your hardest. I appreciate you saving me", Whumpee smiled weakly.

"Here is, uh", Caretaker quickly wiped a tear away, "your feathers you requested, I hope the ones I grabbed are okay."

"Thankyou", Whumpee reached for a feather.

"The leftover parts of your wings and the rest of your feathers are being taken care of by the Avian Society. I didn't know what was best for your wings and feathers, I hope it's okay I trusted them to the leaders", Caretaker sighed.

"That's okay, they will probably destroy them", Whumpee frowned, "I'll receive the cremated remains."

"Are you okay with that?", Caretaker made a concerned look.

"That's normal, because of what we are, most of our bodies are cremated.... unless it's an honored person. Some avians believe those people are gods and follow them", Whumpee sadly rubbed their feather across their face, "we don't want the bodies of our people to be dug up and studied in years to come."

Caretaker nodded, "I guess that makes sense", Caretaker glanced at Whumpee's back, "you should get some more rest."

"I feel like I've been hit by a bus... do you think I can eat yet? My last meal was my wings, and I don't want that to be the only thing in my stomach."

"Let me ask your nurse, and I'll go get you something if they allow it", Caretaker stood.

Caretaker came back into Whumpee's room, but was startled to see a few winged people in Whumpee's room. They figured it was part of the Avain Council.

They all glanced at Caretaker.

"Sorry, I'll come back when you are...", Caretaker knew they weren't exactly welcomed, they put up with Caretaker because of Whumpee.

"Wait, you are Caretaker right. You saved Whumpee?", someone stepped closer.

"Y-yes sir, I was able to find them. I wish I could have found them sooner though", Caretaker frowned as they looked at Whumpee.

"Please come in, you're a hero for saving them. Please eat", another invited.

"Oh this is for Whumpee, they were hungry", Caretaker started to walk to the bed.

"Ah yes, thankyou for feeding them", they stepped back to allow room for Caretaker.

Caretaker knelt beside the bed, after a second of Whumpee struggling Caretaker started to help them eat.

"Thankyou", Whumpee smiled after swallowing a mouthful.

"You're welcome Whumpee. I'd do anything for you", Caretaker smiled.

"The council will leave now and allow you to eat and rest. Please let us know if you need anything. We will happily provide you with anything you need", they started to leave, "we will also return the remains of your wings to you when you return to your home."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou for visiting me."

Caretaker sighed as they got up and sat down.

"I hope that was okay. I wasn't exactly sure what to say to them", Caretaker frowned, "I get nervous around them."

"You did good, I think they will be showing you a lot more respect after this", Whumpee smiled weakly, "I wish I had my wings to cover me up, I'm a little chilly."

"Though your wings are softer, I hope this will suffice", Caretaker pulled up a blanket and covered Whumpee.

"Yes thankyou, and thank...you", Whumpee yawned, "for the food."

"Your welcome Whumpee, get some rest. I won't leave you", Caretaker smiled as Whumpee's eyes slowly closed, "I promise."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems @lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Burnt Money (2000)

@of-wounds-and-woes has a lovely gifset of this here!

[whumpasaurus101]

“Make it stop,” Whumpee sobbed, tears streaming down their face as they begged for mercy.

Caretaker watched, their face drenched with tears as they thrashed against the restraints of their chair.

“Isn’t this nice?” Whumper chuckled, “A little reunion, hm?”

[whumpy-bi]

Whumper Dialogue

“Hold Caretaker down, I wanna make sure he sees this.”

[letitbehurt]

Whumper grabbing Whumpee’s chin or yanking on a fistful of hair, forcing them to look.

[jordanstrophe]

Behave, 8

Masterlist

CW: Forced medical treatment, hospital whump, soft caring whumper, captivity, blood drawing, manhandling, hurt/comfort, lots of hurt/comfort 

"Arm." Whumper gestured, waving two fingers. They were sitting on whumpees bedside hardly looking up from fiddling with a strap.

But Whumpee didn't move a muscle. They glared with a tired sickly look.

"Come on, I'm just checking your blood pressure. I'm not torturing you." They snapped two fingers impatiently and held their hand out. Whumpee blinked rapidly, before hesitantly placing their wrist in whumpers hand as they tightened the strap around their arm.

"You're not usually impatient." Whumpee mumbled uneasily. Whumper stopped midway and stared blankly, before sighing sadly. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I’m just getting a bit worried; you haven't started healing yet and the boss wants better results than I've been giving." They said, ripping the strap off after it beeped and scribbling away on their clipboard.

Whumpee let out a breath when it was off. They laid their head back and closed their eyes, feeling drained. Stress worsened it, but Whumper was good noticing. They were a little too good at it most times. Whumpee could almost believe they cared.

"I do care about you, you know?"

"What?" Whumpees eyes shot open from startlement. Could they read minds now? Why would they say that so suddenly?

"I know this is hard. You don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to hurt you. Despite how I treat you sometimes, I do care about you. I care enough to do all the hard things, like this-” Before they finished, they tightened their grip on their elbow and forced a needle into whumpee’s arm. They let loose a cry and pulled away, but whumper crawled half on top of them and held their arm still.

"Stop!!!" Whumpee shrilled, trying to give a good kick of retaliation, but whumper's weight over their waist only let them raise their knees a short height. Within seconds, the needle was out and Whumper was holding them against their chest trying to get them to lay back down.

"Lean back, breathe, you're okay. I just took a sample. I was supposed to get one yesterday, but you looked like you needed a break from being poked and prodded." They held up a veil of blood to make sure it was enough as whumpee collapsed back in bed panting.

"I-.... *huff*... I hate you." Whumpee huffed out of breath. They both suddenly looked at eachother, whumpee had a pure wounded look, while whumper just had a furrowed brow.

"I know." Whumper mumbled, still holding their wrist in fear of getting hit. "But even if you believe me or not, everything I have done, I've done for you."

They moved some hair from whumpees face and rested their hand on their forehead. They could feel them shaking and their temperature high. Their eyes were teary and they looked like they could just pass out. 

"Then why-... Don't you j-just let me go." They whimpered. "Why- .. Why can't you just le-leave me alone..? Why do you keep coming b-back? Why do you keep me here?" They buried their face in their hands and quietly wept. Whumper slowly crawled back to their bedside and let go of them. 

"Because.... You would die."

Whumpee immediately fell silent you couldn't even hear breathing.

Whumper got up, adjusted their room temperature, poured a cup of water by their bedside and put out a couple of crackers. 

"I can put some music on. Would you like that?" They asked. Whumpee still had their face buried in their hands as they slowly nodded. Whumper put on a playlist titled "Whumpee's soft songs" on their personal phone. They weren't supposed to mix work and life together, especially here, but even at home they couldn't help but put together little things to keep them both sane. 

@serialobsesssor @fishtale88  @echo-of-umbra 

[chaotic-orphan]

A Month of Whump: Winter Whumperland Day 8 - John McClane

Russian roulette // forced to watch // held hostage

LISTEN DIE HARD IS MY FAVOURITE MOVIE AND THERE IS JUST SOMETHING ABOUT HOW HE IS ALWAYS COVERED IN BLOOD THAT GAVE SEVEN-YEAR-OLD-ME WHUMPERFLIES OKAY!!!

Also I know it’s late, but time is relative, okay?

*~*~*~*~*

“I knew you’d come,” Whumper said with a smile, but Whumpee wasn't paying attention to Whumper. Instead their gaze was locked onto Caretaker who was being held by two of Whumper's henchmen behind where Whumper sat. Whumpee swallowed as they watched realisation dawn on Caretaker’s face. Black blood dried from his left nostril, caked and flaking down his lips. He had dark red bags under his eyes, that contrasted with his too pale face. A giant black bruise took up the bulk of his left cheek, his bottom lip split open.

He barely even looked like Caretaker anymore. Just a shell of who Caretaker was. It had only been two days… the guilt flooded Whumpee the moment Caretaker met their eyes.

“Whumpee no! No!” Caretaker yelled, wild green eyes angry and glaring helpless at Whumpee as he struggled against two of Whumper’s henchmen holding him. “I told you to run!”

“I couldn’t leave you here,” Whumpee said, voice quiet and cold, switching their gaze to glare at Whumper. “Not with them.”

“I do love a good reunion,” Whumper said, standing to greet Whumpee. Whumpee was stiff as Whumper walked towards them. Caretaker was anything but, struggling furiously in the corner his hands tied behind his back, the henchmen struggling to keep Caretaker down.

“Don’t touch them!” Caretaker growled, then suddenly threw his weight to the left and knocked one of the Henchmen into the wall. Caretaker was about to do the same when he saw Whumper grab Whumpee by the throat and slam them back against the wall.

Caretaker froze in place, half hunched ready to pounce on the other henchman but all he could do was look at Whumper’s hand around Whumpee’s throat.

Whumper glanced back at Caretaker knowingly, while Whumpee glared at Whumper and grabbed their wrist with both hands.

“Caretaker, do I have to explain to you again? Who holds the power here, do you need a demonstration old friend?”

“Whumper—”

Whumper sucked in a breath and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wrong answer, Caretaker.”

“Wait, Whumper!”

Whumper blocked Caretaker’s view of Whumpee with his body, smiling down at Whumpee like this was a professional hazard.

Whumpee threw their body forward and got two inches of leverage before Whumper hummed and slammed them back, their head smacking off the wall.

“Whumper! Stop!”

Whumper’s right hook connected with Whumpee’s cheek and they cried out. Whumpee could still hear Caretaker’s struggles behind Whumper, even over the sound of their own as they tried to push Whumper off of them.

Another punch went to the bridge of Whumpee’s nose, then their jaw, then their lips and then again against their cheek. Whumper released Whumpee’s throat with the final punch and let Whumpee slid down the wall sideways, cradling a hand to their cheek.

He didn’t let Whumpee slide all the way down, grabbing them in the middle of their hoodie and half holding them up.

“Now, Caretaker, is that enough blood for you to learn your mistake or do we need more?”

“You’re a fucking bastard, Whumper!” Caretaker yelled, grunting with the effort trying to get free of the hands on him.

Whumper looked down at Whumpee apologetically. Then he grabbed Whumpee’s head and slammed it against his knee. Whumpee fell to the ground crying out and then gasped when Whumper slammed a foot on their ribs.

“Hurt me! Hurt me, not them!” Caretaker raged, helpless tears gathering behind his eyes. Whumper pressed his heel down harder on Whumpee’s ribs who blubbered, before turning their head as they gurgled a spit bubble of blood before spitting out a glob onto the floor. “Whumper please!”

“Ahh!” Whumper exclaimed happily, immediately taking his foot off of Whumpee’s chest and turning to face Caretaker. “There we go, and they say you can’t teach an old dog new manners.”

“Tricks—” Whumpee corrected, slowly getting to all fours.

Whumper turned and kicked Whumpee to the ground again without looking at them, instead drinking in Caretaker’s struggles.

“Mmm, I have some tricks, Caretaker. You’d know all about that wouldn’t you? I learned some of them from you after all,” Whumper said, something simmering behind the words, looking directly into Caretaker’s fury filled eyes. “Y’know, Whumpee, there was a time when Caretaker protected me this fiercely. A time before you came along.”

“It’s not Whumpee’s fault you turned into a psycho, Whumper.”

Whumper’s nostrils flared as he smiled. “Why, Caretaker, do you want to take the credit for it?”

Caretaker didn’t say anything, just stared at the face of his best friend and saw a stranger looking back at him. Whumper hmphed softly at Caretaker’s silence then turned back to Whumpee who was on all fours again.

Whumper leaned down and grabbed the back of Whumpee’s hoodie, dragging them to their feet with ease even as Whumpee struggled.

“That’s it, it’s alright, come on now, we’re going to play a game. That’s it, settle down now,” Whumper said shoving Whumpee down into a chair. Whumpee fixed their hoodie with a huff, wiping the blood from their nose on the back of their hand. They never took their eyes off Whumper as he walked around the small square table, only big enough to fit two people sitting at it. Whumper took the chair opposite Whumpee where he was sitting when Whumpee first arrived.

Whumper grinned at Whumpee when he finally sat down.

“God, you look so much like an old friend of ours,” Whumper said, looking over his shoulder at Caretaker. “Do you remember Friend? They always had that wildness to them, I only noticed now with the smeared blood and the murderous glint in your eyes. Caretaker was the one to put them down,” Whumper said turning his attention back to Whumpee and winking.

“I don’t care,” said Whumpee, voice cracking after being strangled. “Me for Caretaker, that’s the deal.”

“Whumpee—”

Whumper clicked his fingers in the air and wagged his finger at Caretaker’s protest. “Caretaker I swear to god I will gag you if you interrupt us again. Do you understand? The last word I want from you is yes or no.”

Caretaker let out a begrudging yes, and Whumper smiled again. “Good. Danny, can you get something to gag him with, I feel like we’ll need it before we are finished here.”

Whumper turned his attention to Whumpee again, a dazzling smile on his face as he interlocked his fingers on the table.

“Now, Whumpee. Your deal is a good one, however, I don’t like it because it’s only half good. Either I lose Caretaker or I keep Caretaker but that means I don’t one of you.”

“You can keep one of us though,” Whumpee argued.

Whumper smiled. “Yes. I know,” he replied calmly, then leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I have a better deal.”

Whumpee’s eyes flashed to Caretaker behind Whumper who shook his head before settling on Whumper again.

“Okay. What’s your deal?”

“My deal is far more favourable for both sides, Whumpee. I propose a game… a game of chicken you could say. If you win, I’ll let you and Caretaker go no strings attached.”

Whumpee’s heart pounded against their chest, hope fluttering it faster, harder, louder. They glanced at Caretaker again, whose suspicious eyes were focused on Whumper.

Whumpee swallowed. “And if you win?”

“If I win I get both of you.”

“No,” Caretaker said immediately. “No. Absolutely not, Whumpee walk away. Whumper—”

“Ah! Danny, just in time, shut Caretaker up would you?”

Whumpee stood up but a hand on each of their shoulders forced them to sit back down again. “Whumpee, don’t! Whatever it is don— argh— mmph!”

Whumpee shot up again but was forced back down and the chair pushed in further to the table keeping them sitting. The table edge pressed painfully against their ribs.

Whumper smiled at Whumpee. “Whumpee, I could just as easily take you both right now by force. You’re outnumbered. I could have killed you when you walked in the door but I didn’t, did I? Do you know why I didn’t Whumpee?”

Whumpee swallowed, eyes going back to Caretaker who huffed furiously around the gag.

“Because you’re a fucking monster?” Whumpee asked, raising their brows and dragging their gaze back to Whumper’s stupid smiling face.

“No. It’s because I invited you here for a negotiation in good faith. If you like we don’t have to play and I can just take you both—”

“No,” Whumpee said quickly at the same time Caretaker mumbled out something like a no behind Whumper.

Whumper smiled and sat back into his chair, smile turned smirk now. “So you agree to play then?”

“Yes,” Whumpee said again, not looking at Caretaker who cried out against the gag again.

“Good,” Whumper said. “Very good. Here’s the game.”

Whumper pulled out a revolver that Whumpee had only seen Whumper use once. Whumpee flinched back but didn’t go very far. Whumper grinned as he cocked the gun at Whumpee and Caretaker screamed and struggled with renewed energy against the Henchmen holding him back.

Whumper let out a soft laugh. “Just kidding. God, Caretaker, it’s so easy to rile you up.”

Whumper held the hammer and pulled the trigger before slowly lowering it until the gun wasn’t live anymore. Then he pushed his thumb against the ejector rod and took the round out of the chamber. Whumper then slowly turned the cylinder, and repeated this until all six bullets dropped rhythmically onto the table between them. The entire time Whumper kept eye contact with Whumpee, a soft smirk on his face as he watched Whumpee swallow back the lump in their throat.

“—umph—r—nn—” Caretaker screamed against the gag until the last bullet fell from the cylinder and into Whumper’s awaiting hand.

“You know this game Whumpee?” Whumper asked, cocking an eyebrow at Whumpee.

Whumpee’s throat was suddenly dry, so they swallowed again, before they replied nervously: “I thought you said we were going to play chicken.”

“A version of it,” Whumper said with a shrug. “Russian roulette. Caretaker, Friend and I used to play it all the time as kids.”

Caretaker had tired themselves out, now he stood limp in the hold of the henchmen, glaring daggers at Whumper. Even his stare didn’t have any real bite left to it. Whumpee looked at him with surprise written all over their face.

“Back when Caretaker was fun,” Whumper said, sliding one bullet back into the cylinder and spinning it with the palm of their hand before stopping it and sliding the cylinder back into place. Whumper grinned at Whumpee as he drew the hammer back, loading the chamber.

“I’m a good sport, Whumpee,” said Whumper handing Whumpee the gun. “You can go first.”

Whumpee went to grab the gun from Whumper but froze when they heard another gun cocking in the room. Whumper’s smile turned razor sharp.

“Just in case you get any ideas… if you try to kill me, Caretaker dies too.”

“I got it,” Whumpee said with an edge in their voice. Sick of all the threats Whumper had made in the last five minutes.

“Mmmm. Eager! Wonderful. I knew you’d be an interesting games partner.”

Caretaker cried out when Whumpee put the gun to their own head, swallowing hard. A shiver ran down Whumpee’s spine as they felt the weight of the gun in their hand.

If the shot was in the chamber they would be dead.

This would be it.

They never imagined they’d die from a stupid bet.

God this was so stupid, what were they doing?

Whumpee’s hand started to shake as the realisation slowly dawned on them. They looked at Caretaker who shook his head furiously at them, telling them not to do it.

Whumpee licked their lips trying to get some moisture back in their dry mouth enough to speak. “If I don’t do this, Whumper gets us anyways,” it was an explanation. An excuse that fell from their lips. “Thank you for everything.”

Caretaker cried out again when Whumpee pulled the trigger.

They let out the breath they were holding with a gasp as they dropped the gun to the table, trembling all over. Wild eyes went to Caretaker who had his eyes closed until he heard the gun clatter.

Whumper laughed and grabbed Whumpee’s shaking hands. “Look at that! That adrenaline spike, Whumpee! That’s how you know you’re alive. I barely get it anymore. Watch.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Whumper had the gun in his hand, while his other still held Whumpee’s and pulled the trigger without even blinking.

That stunned Whumpee more than their own turn had.

Whumper grinned and put the gun back on the table, then held out their hand. Whumpee’s eyes went down following Whumper’s movement but true to their word, not even a muscle twitched in Whumper’s hands.

“See why it’s fun now, Whumpee?” Whumper asked again, and Whumpee’s mouth went dry again, realising it was their turn. Again.

They had a one in four chance.

One in four.

25%.

Whumpee didn’t want to bet their life on the one in four chance that when they pulled the trigger they would die.

And yet, after seeing Whumper do it so casually, Whumpee found the familiar weight of the cool metal revolver in their hand once again. Caretaker mumbled out a pathetic “nnnuh” against the gag, but this time a strange calm overcame Whumpee as they pressed the barrel against their head.

They found Caretaker’s hopeless eyes and offered a smile.

“One in four. 25% chance I die, Caretaker. 75% chance I live.”

“Look at you, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed. “Playing the odds. I am so happy you decided to join me today. You are magnificent.”

Whumpee didn’t close their eyes this time.

They pulled the trigger.

The hammer shot against empty air and the recoil sent Whumpee’s hand back away from their head, letting their hand follow the movement to place the heavy hunk of metal onto the table.

“Safe again,” Whumper said, clicking his tongue against his teeth. Then he took the gun and Caretaker cried into the gag.

“-nuf! -umpr- s’enuf!”

Whumper paused this time. His eyes going to Whumpee but looking passed them.

“Someone take their gag off would you?”

Whumpee watched as someone drew the cloth down from around Caretaker’s lips and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Whumper stop this. Please. I can’t watch this. I can’t watch you die!”

Whumper didn’t move for a moment. “You mean Whumpee. You can’t watch Whumpee die.”

“I mean either of you,” Caretaker pleaded, voice genuine. “Please. Don’t do this.”

Whumper arched a brow at Whumpee. “Whumpee. Do you forfeit?”

“No,” said Whumpee. Whumper smiled.

“Sorry Caretaker. No can do.”

Whumper pulled the trigger.

Whumpee started forward, their entire body jerking at the sound. Whumper grinned at Whumpee and put the gun back on the table.

“What’re the chances Whumpee, eh?”

“Stop this! Stop! Whumpee! This is madness. It’s 50/50, you can’t logic your way out of that. Either you die or you don’t, please. Don’t. Whumpee please. Whumper! Listen to me, this is crazy.”

“I will gag you again, Caretaker. This is Whumpee’s decision.”

The words seemed so far away, muted from the blood drumming against Whumpee’s skull. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Fuck,” Whumpee breathed softly. Whumper’s eyes glistened when Whumpee raised their head to meet Whumper’s gaze. “You let me go first.”

“I let you go first,” Whumper repeated with a self-satisfied sigh. His grin grew to a knowing smirk, knowing this was how it would turn out all things going well. “You should have played the odds from the beginning Whumpee.”

Whumpee swallowed, eyes searching for something, something in the back of their brain. Some way they could still win, get Caretaker and themselves out of this.

Whumper let them go first. They were an idiot. The only way they could have won was to let Whumper go first, then if the game played out as it did and they came to the second last bullet Whumper would have had to stop the game and let Whumpee and Caretaker go.

Fuck!

FUCK!

Whumpee reached for the gun. Caretaker cried out. Whumpee savoured the look of surprise on Whumper’s face.

“Fifty-fifty,” said Whumpee, not trying to hide how bad their hand shook as they pressed the cool metal to their temple.

“Whumpee!”

“You’re bluffing,” Whumper said with a smile, but there was doubt behind his words. A game of chicken, Whumper had said. The game only really started when there was two rounds left unfired.

“Either I get free Caretaker and I, or I die and Caretaker—”

“Gets taken in by me,” Whumper said with a laugh. Whumpee narrowed their eyes at him. “Come on Whumpee, if you’re gone I have to take my anger out on someone.”

“You said we’re playing a game of chicken,” Whumpee argued. “If I pull the trigger and die then I didn’t lose.”

“Hmph,” Whumper mused, and maybe it was the crazy talking but Whumpee thought they sounded impressed. "If you're dead how would you know I'd keep my word?"

Whumpee narrowed their eyes and opened their mouth to reply, but Caretaker was the one to break the silence. “Whumpee, Whumpee look at me! Look at me!”

Whumpee fought to keep their gaze trained on Whumper’s face as he chewed on Whumpee’s words.

“Whumpee!”

Whumpee looked at Caretaker with sympathetic eyes. Caretaker had tear marks trailing down his cheeks which stirred up a wealth of guilt in Whumpee’s gut.

“Don’t you dare sacrifice your life for me.”

Whumpee swallowed, trying and failing to keep their voice even. “It’s my life—”

“If you do this and you die, you’re fine! What about me?! I’ll have to carry that guilt—”

“It’s my decision.”

“Really building the suspense here, Whumpee,” Whumper mused, “I’m on the edge of my seat. What a performance! You can pull that trigger now and die, or you can pull it and force my hand to let you both go. What’s worse Whumpee? Dying or living under my care again, hmm?”

Whumpee hesitated.

Whumper continued, “after all the lengths and hoops Caretaker had to jump through to get you out, you just walk back into my arms. Could you live with that guilt Whumpee?”

“Don’t listen to him, Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “He’s lying.”

Whumper’s smile was knowing as he spoke again, “we both know I’m not lying Whumpee. Caretaker’s fate was sealed from the moment he betrayed me, and he wanted you to be out. To be free from me. You come back here, you beat me at my own game you both walk free, the only thing holding you back from this happily ever after is that trigger there, with your index finger resting on it.”

“Whumpee don’t! Please. It’s not worth it.”

“Do it Whumpee. I know you want to.”

Whumpee’s hand moved faster than they thought it would as they aimed the revolver at the henchman with the gun on Caretaker. Whumper laughed at the turn of events as the henchman behind Whumpee grabbed the revolver and snatched it from their hand, keeping Whumpee restrained all the while.

“No! You fuck! Get off me—” Whumpee cried as the henchman handed the gun to Whumper. Whumper took the revolver in his hand with a small surprised laugh.

“I knew you had it in you Whumpee, but to be fair, I don’t think I would’ve pulled the trigger myself. Let’s see, shall we if you would have died or not.”

Whumper turned their body and pointed the revolver between Caretaker’s ear and the wall and squeezed the trigger. Caretaker didn’t flinch.

Whumpee did.

The chamber was empty.

The chamber was empty... Whumpee could have done it. They could have freed Caretaker, they could have freed themselves if only they had the fucking nerve of it.

“Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “It’s okay Whumpee. I wouldn’t have done it either, Whumpee. Whumpee?”

“Were they all empty?” Whumpee asked, voice blank and devoid of any emotion.

Whumper smiled. “Of course they weren’t. Watch.”

Whumper pulled the trigger again and this time Caretaker flinched and fell as the shot went off right at his ear, knocking his centre of balance off. Caretaker fell like a stone but was stopped by the Henchmen from falling flat on his face.

Whumpee started when they saw the blood trickle from Caretaker’s ear, furiously pawing at the henchman holding them back.

“You fucking dick!” Whumpee cried as Whumper reloaded his revolver whistling quite happy to himself. Whumpee twisted and turned and tried to get the arms holding them off so they could scratch Whumper’s eyes out of his stupid fucking skull.

When Whumper was finished loading the gun he checked the chamber and lowered it so Whumpee could see there was a round loaded before cocking the gun and pointing it at Caretaker’s head.

Whumpee immediately stilled and Whumper stopped whistling.

“There we go," Whumper cooed. His voice no longer jovial and mocking, but back to Whumper. The scary Whumper that had kidnapped Whumpee and tortured them everyday. The cold calculating monster. "You haven’t forgotten your training, of course, you’ll have to re-learn some of it, but I think this arrangement will be good for all of us. Something new.”

Caretaker was still half held up by the Henchmen on either side of him, face pale, eyes unfocused. He wouldn’t be able to move suddenly if he had to, and Whumpee was too tired to fight anymore, the adrenaline leaving their body in the same rush that it came with until Whumpee was deflated, body exhausted.

Whumper uncocked the gun, drawing the hammer up and clicking the safety on before holstering it again beneath his jacket. He walked around the table to where Whumpee was still held sitting on the chair and patted Whumpee’s cheeks lightly.

“No need to be a sore loser, Whumpee, you agreed to my terms. Fair is fair,” Whumper’s hand tightened on Whumpee’s cheeks tilting their head up to look Whumper in the eye. “I get you both. Bring Caretaker to the car, Whumpee’s coming with me and Danny here.”

One of the Henchmen handed Whumper an extra pair of handcuffs that he turned over in his hand and clicked open, grinning down at Whumpee. Whumpee was dragged to their feet, Whumper taking Whumpee’s wrist and slapping the metal cuff around their wrist until it bit into Whumpee’s skin. Whumper turned Whumpee until their back was to him and tightened the other cuff unkindly tight.

To add insult to injury, Whumper pulled on the taut chain yanking Whumpee back unbalanced into Whumper’s chest.

The perfect place for Whumper to whisper: “can’t have you running away again, can I?”

Whumpee remained stubbornly silent.

“Whumpee, come on now, the silent treatment? Maybe I should get you a leash and a collar, like a dog so you won't be able to run, hmm? You know, this little game of ours is only drawn even now.”

Whumpee stilled at the words. “What?”

“I’ll explain on the way to the car,” Whumper said, pushing Whumpee forward to walk out the door, hand on Whumpee’s upper arm forcing them on. “I’m an easy man to please, Whumpee. I like to be entertained. That’s why I got you, you were so malleable and vulnerable. You hung onto every word I said just because I gave you attention…”

Whumpee bristled at the reminder of how they were before they met Whumper but stayed quiet, allowing Whumper to finish his little Villainous, victory speech.

“Now could I have chosen someone else? Yes, but they wouldn’t have the brain you had Whumpee. I could tell you were like me from the moment I laid eyes on you, and today has proven it. You were bored with life before me, and you needed something to entertain you. Something to fight against, something to live for.”

“So I took you. We have our fun, but you beat me. You and your clever little cunning brain found a way to defeat me, you used my best friend's kindness against me and you managed to escape.”

“That wasn’t a game,” Whumpee hissed, “you were torturing me.”

“And wasn’t it so fun? I bet you’re just dying to see what I have in store for you now, but our Russian roulette makes us even. I guess you could say that this is the start of our third game together; two worthy opponents, battling it out against each other. Except this time,” Whumper said opening the boot of the car and shoving Whumpee in. Whumpee landed awkwardly on their shoulder, hands restrained uselessly behind them as they stared up at a grinning Whumper.

“This time, I don’t have a friend you can use against me. They’ll be right there with you, a new contender. Extra fun. Aren’t you excited, Whumpee? Maybe this time the roles are reversed and now I have a friend I can use against you. Get comfortable, I've moved my little estate and bought some land in the country. It's going to be a long, long ride.”

Before Whumpee could reply Whumper slammed the boot closed and they were buried in darkness. The sound of the empty chamber firing no bullet replaying in their mind like a broken record.

"Caretaker," Whumpee whispered into the darkness, "I'm so sorry."

*~*~*~*~*

@amonthofwhump

[whumperofworlds]

Hi!! For the whump trope thing, what are your thoughts on forced to watch trope? :)

Hello!!! Thanks for the ask!

YEEEES A GOOD TROPE! Whumpee and Caretaker taken captive, and Whumper takes Whumpee and Caretaker to be tortured. Caretaker thought that they'll be tortured painfully, so they braced themself.

They do feel pain, but only the emotional kind. Caretaker is bound nearby, their head tied down so they couldn't move it and their eyes held opened so they wouldn't close their eyes. Whumper tortures Whumpee in front of them, as Caretaker was forced to watch it all. They wanted to look away. They wanted to not see their friend get hurt. But even if they were able to look away, Whumpee's screams still hit their ears... the guilt they feel, how they should have protected Whumpee. The agony of being unable to help Whumpee. Having to see them bloodied and crying...

11/10. Great trope, and I always use it when I have two characters kidnapped 😈

[stagelightwhump]

Turn blorbo into your whumpee? No.

Turn whumpee into your blorbo.

Completely alter their appearance, from their hair color, eye color, even their height and weight should be changed to match your blorbo's. Make them unrecognizable as anybody but them.

Then, the fun part. Training them to act like blorbo. Shock collars, hypnosis, whips, or even hijacking their brain entirely, be it through magic or machinery. Beat down whatever personality they came with, and install the correct one overtop. Make them genuinely believe that they are blorbo, and that they've always been blorbo.

Now, you have your own version of blorbo, one who you can re-torture, or take care of, or train to torment others, at a much lower cost than you'd pay if you hunted down blorbo yourself. It's clearly the superior option, right?

Of course it is.

[shes-some-other-where]

Rain and Apple Blossoms

[ID: a banner featuring bright red apples, prison bars, and medieval looking text of the story's title, Rain and Apple Blossoms. End ID.]

Contains: prison, prison camp, forced labour, abuse of power / full list at the bottom of this post

(in progress)

A nameless convict suffers in a prison camp, sentenced to years of hard labour for his crime. There, he is tormented by cruel guards and an even crueller chief overseer who seems to enjoy humiliating him. Eventually, he escapes, and he finds himself cared for by a kind stranger who is on her own journey of grief and self-discovery. With soldiers still hunting for the fugitive, every moment he spends in his unlikely caretaker's company is a risk to them both.

Heavier on whump than plot. Heavier on hurt than comfort. But it's all there.

Full list of CWs at the bottom of this post.

Written for The Merry Whump of May 2024. All drabbles, exactly 100 words. All connected, but many can be read as standalone pieces. However, if you want to read it as a full "narrative," the suggested reading order is below.

Suggested Reading Order

(Alternatively, find the list of prompts in event order here.)

🌫️ The Camp

Day 9 - “You’re nothing.”

Day 27 - C for “convict”

Day 8 - A proud, arrogant fool.

Day 2 - Snake venom and molten sand

Day 2 - “Don’t you dare.”

Day 7 - “Forget about them.”

Day 10 - “I don’t have regrets.”

Day 11 - “Pretty little thing.”

Day 12 - “Let me hear you.”

Day 3 - “See what happens.”

Day 14 - “Leave him alone.”

Day 16 - Your neverending insolence

Day 16 - Twenty-nine and one

Day 16 - “Naïve fool.”

Day 1 - Swallowed by the dark

Day 28 - The indistinct phantoms of nightmares

Day 14/23 - Deserving sinners

Day 5 - The chance to flee

Day 6 - Disobedient dogs who try to run

Day 13 - “To know you'll only fail again.”

Day 8 - “I’m fine.”

🌫️ The Escape

Day 13 - Leave no trail.

Day 7 - The world beyond

Day 6 - A sombre dawn

Day 15 - A fool, a dead man

🌫️ The Cellar

Day 4 - “Who are you?”

Day 15 - “Let me help you.”

Day 17 - “Wait, are you afraid of me?”

Day 24 - “Lean on me.”

Day 23 - Cursed, hunted, condemned

Day 27 - “You’re trembling.”

Day 12 - “I’m dangerous.”

Day 17 - “You’re not a prisoner here.”

Alt Prompt - “No one knows you’re here.”

Day 15 - Her foolhardy selflessness

Day 25 - “Is that wise?”

Day 24 - “Just forget about me.”

Day 30 - “I think you might be a good man.”

Day 29 - “Just another few days.”

Day 15 - Endless pools of sorrow

Day 20 - “Are you alone here?”

Day 24 - “What’s with all the apples?”

Day 13 - “I just wish I could repay you.”

Day 28 - “You've found your smile again.”

Day 25 - “I’ve always loved the rain.”

Day 2 - “What are you doing in my house?”

Day 1 - “What were you thinking?”

Day 18 - “Why do you love him?”

Day 11 - “An arrangement, and nothing more.”

Day 6 - “He would never hurt me.”

🌫️ The Recapture

Day 18 - “Nowhere to run, crook.”

Day 19 - “Rot in hell.”

Alt prompt - “It was her.”

Day 4 - He with no future

Day 20 - “Don’t tell me you forgot about me.”

Day 22 - “It’s been too long.”

Day 22 - A death sentence disguised as mercy.

Day 31 - “Enjoy your last night here.”

Day 31 - “Now you’re a broken man.”

Day 28 - “Hope you enjoyed the last taste of freedom you'll ever have.”

🌫️ The Pits

Day 29 - “You ought to be grovelling at my feet.”

Day 26 - A shambling spectre that once was a man

Day 21 - Leashed, muzzled, and ordered around like a beast

Day 3 - Half-lives in the dust

Day 30 - A creature soft, yet wild

Day 25 - “I’ll always love the rain.”

🌫️ A Free Man

Day 1 - Retribution well-deserved

Day 29 - “You are free.”

Day 29 - Charcoal and silver

Day 26 - Fading stars and blooming sun

Alt prompt - Rain and apple blossoms

Full List of Content Warnings

pain, angst, prison, prison camp, labour camp, forced labour, chains, blood, restraints, cruel law enforcement, branding, taunting, humiliation, physical violence, beatings, very brief minor whump, whipping/flogging, gag/muzzle, exhaustion, thirst/dehydration, mine collapse, minor character death, death mention, failed escape, torture, barbed wire, exposure, guilt, fear, grief, loneliness, prospect of a loveless marriage, betrayal, recapture

[whumpshaped]

deer anon asked:

It's me, ya bitch, back at it again with more horrible whump ideas. Very please that so far, you have entertained my shenanigans, because thus far, my cat has been the only one to sit through my horrendous ideas, and she is indeed, quite poor company.

Characters infected with something, characters who know they're going to lose their mind or change into something vile and violent, characters who know that they need to leave their team behind now before they try to kill them and before their team has no choice but to destroy them. Characters who can't leave their team (or family, lovers, friends...) for various reasons. Characters spitting out their lungs over the floor while staring at those they love, begging them to just kill them before it's too late.

And those who love them realizing that their only choice is to shoot their best friend.

Everybody hurts, nobody wins, the world sucks, and I really need to start posting all my ideas on my own blog but BOY do I love seeing what you manage to do with em 😅

Follow up to my 'slowly becoming a monster' ask because it popped into mind just as I hit send:

Whumpee's/infected char's loved ones choosing to instead cage/restrain them until they can find a way to save them.

---

tw body horror, nonhuman whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, bad caretaker, guns, infection whump, forced to hurt

"Please!" Whumpee screamed, voice so scratchy and distorted that if Caretaker hadn't been looking straight at them, they would've never guessed it was their friend speaking. They could hardly believe it, even like this. "I don't know how long... I can keep this thing at bay... It wants to– It wants to kill– It wants to kill you–"

"You'd never hurt me," Caretaker said tearily. "I know you wouldn't."

"But it would. Caretaker, this isn't... this isn't me." Whumpee shivered, then coughed, and Caretaker couldn't even look at the fresh blood splatter on the floor. "Please. Please, let me go out as... somewhat myself. Before I hurt you. I don't want to hurt you," they pleaded between two sobs.

"I... I can't." They couldn't even raise the gun. Couldn't even take aim. It was too much. "I can't kill you. I can't. We can still find a way to reverse this–"

Whumpee lunged before they could react. They tore the gun out of their hand and shoved the barrel into their own mouth, ready to end it all– but their attempt was interrupted by a violent coughing fit that made them drop the weapon. Caretaker snatched it up immediately and took several steps back, their heart hammering in their chest as they realised just how close they'd come to losing Whumpee.

"Just fucking do it, goddammit!" Whumpee yelled, but they sounded weaker than before. Their speech was becoming... garbled and difficult to understand, and the involuntary muscle spasms came quicker and quicker, one after the other until Whumpee was but a convulsing mess on the floor.

Caretaker wanted to help. They wanted to turn them onto their side and make sure they didn't choke, or whatever the protocol was in this situation, they couldn't even remember, what if they made it worse– But they never got the chance.

Whumpee's body changed within seconds. Their skin tore and their bones cracked as the infection forced them into a new shape, their limbs bending in unnatural ways and taking on an entirely new appearance. Their back split open with a sickening squelch, several tentacles sprouting from the wound like an octopus was trying to escape from inside.

Caretaker screamed and tried to run off, but something wrapped around their ankle and made them trip. The thing yanked them back effortlessly, and they soon found themself trapped under Whumpee's new, monstrous body, with rows of sharp teeth uncomfortably close to their throat.

"Stop!" they shrieked, but the creature — their friend — showed no signs of understanding them. "Whumpee, stop it! Please! Stop!"

Drops of saliva landed on their cheeks as the thing gnashed its teeth and prepared to tear their throat out, and Caretaker acted on instinct. The sound of the gun going off was unbearably loud, rivalled only by the pained cry of the monster. It was an utterly inhumane sound that grated on Caretaker's ears, and they wasted no time getting away from it. They didn't turn to look where the bullet had hit it.

They opened the door and slammed it shut as soon as they were outside, but Whumpee, or what had remained of them, crashed into it within the next second. Its arm broke through the wood and managed to scratch Caretaker, making them yelp and give up on the idea that locking the stupid thing would do anything.

They had to run. They had to run fast.

They weren't even at the stairs when the thing got out, and the way it moved sounded like the biggest spider was chasing them down. They jumped over several steps while blindly shooting backwards, only guessing that some of the bullets had hit from the way the monster shrieked.

"I'm sorry!" they cried. "Whumpee, please! Leave me alone! I'm sorry!"

The creature was faster than them, and in a last ditch effort, Caretaker spun around and tried to aim for its head. They should've honoured Whumpee's wish. They should've done this while their friend was still human. They were the worst fucking friend.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

It collapsed in a heap not too far from Caretaker, too many limbs twitching with entirely too much life for something that had been shot this many times. It was still growling and groaning, and... Caretaker suddenly had an outlandish idea.

If it wasn't dying... If it was just incapacitated... If it could be dragged around safely... The basement door was solid metal... There was some rope in the garage...

They looked at the monster's gruesome face and thought of Whumpee's soft features. What if they could still undo this? What if they could bring them back? What if Whumpee's consciousness was still in there, trapped and waiting to be freed?

"I'll help," Caretaker choked out. "I'll help you. I'll make this right. I'll– I'll get you back. I swear."

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: begging, interrogation, forced to watch, [mentioned] death, impossible choice.

To "coax" Caretaker into giving them the information they want, Whumper and his men decide to bring Whumpee in to see how long it takes for them to give in.

The information they want has the potential to kill thousands of innocent people, however, so as soon as they can, Whumpee quietly begs Caretaker not to give in, no matter how bad it gets. They wouldn't be able to live with themselves if thousands of people died just so they could live.

The task at hand for Whumpee now, however, is resisting the urge to beg for it to stop. They know the second they do, Caretaker will break, despite their previous objections.

But it's so hard.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 19: "Please, don't,"

Content warning: vague suicidal idealation, forced to hurt a loved one

Caretaker would never forget how Whumpee played the piano. How their fingers danced across the keys, not even needing to look to know exactly where to press. How their eyes closed, how their body swayed in time with the music.

How they smiled when they played, like there was nothing else they’d rather do in life.

Whumper had strapped Whumpee onto a table. Their arms were spread, hands pinned down and fingers splayed out, exposed. Even as they writhed, breath coming out in desperate wheezes from their efforts, they couldn’t pull their hands back. Whumpee was shaking.

Caretaker stood over Whumpee. A hammer was gripped in their hand, hovering above Whumpee’s bound right hand. Caretaker was shaking, too.

“Please, don’t–,” Whumpee’s eyes were impossibly wide, tears dripping down the side of their face and soaking into their hair. Caretaker felt pinned down by that look.

They felt Whumper shift behind them. And yet they flinched hard, an animalistic whimper leaving their throat, as Whumper’s hand laid heavy on their shoulder.

“You can break their hands, or I can break their neck. Your choice,” Whumper’s voice called behind them, thick with amusement.

Their fingers twitched around the hammer.

They knew what was going to happen. They knew Whumper wouldn’t give Whumpee the care they needed. They’d let the wound sit, let the bones heal incorrectly, let the damage become permanent. Their hands would never move the same way again.

So much of their lives would change. Whumpee’s career, their passion. Their ability to look at Caretaker without terror and hate in their eyes.

But everything would change if Caretaker didn’t.

“Caretaker please,” Whumpee begged. “Don’t, don’t let them take this from me–!”

They both knew what Whumper was threatening. They both knew what Whumpee was asking them to do. They knew Whumpee would rather die.

But Caretaker couldn’t do that. They couldn’t. They couldn’t. Caretaker’s hand moved—

“Caretaker! Caretaker stop–!”

—And brought the hammer down.